


decompression

by JackyM



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Martin Blackwood, Autistic Tim Stoker, Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist Has ADHD, M/M, Martim Week 2021 (The Magnus Archives)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 16:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29335302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JackyM/pseuds/JackyM
Summary: Martin and Tim both struggle with overstimulation.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 4
Kudos: 40
Collections: Martim Week 2021





	decompression

**Author's Note:**

> Day 3: Identity
> 
> I originally had this about just Martin autistic, and then as I wrote more of Tim I ended up casting the autismification beam on him. And seeing how there doesn't seem like much content on autistic Tim? I really wanted to explore it more. :3c
> 
> I sort of went with neurodivergence headcaons for this one BUT I headcanon Martin as gay/agender and Tim as bi/trans!

Martin was feeling relatively calm. The room was quiet, wasn't too bright, didn't show any sign that it'd be overwhelming his senses any time soon.

Jon had given him some files to go through, asking him to put all the dates from the different statements into a spreadsheet. Apparently, it was possible that the statements were related to one another given their subject matter, and if they occurred around the same time, Martin should follow up with each statement giver. He didn’t mind work like this. He liked it, really. It was clear what he needed to do, and it was repetitive and familiar. Martin liked things that were repetitive and familiar. It had a natural schedule to it, and it was easy to get into the rhythm of. 

It was a little past noon when Jon stopped by Martin’s desk. Martin was on the fourth page of the second statement, looking through it for any dates and locations that were mentioned. He didn’t notice Jon for several moments, focused on the second paragraph and pulling a date from it ( _Tuesday, fourth of January, Wednesday, fifth of January_ ). Martin was in the middle of typing the dates into the spreadsheet when Jon clearing his throat caught his attention. Martin startled, looking away from the screen and looking up at Jon, who did not look as though he had appreciated waiting. Though, Jon also didn’t make a habit of looking as though he appreciated anything most of the time. It was the few moments that he did that really kept Martin going, and those were few and far-between. 

“Um,” Martin swallowed, placing the statement on his desk, “Jon? Is everything alright?”

Jon’s eyes narrowed. With concern, maybe? It was what Martin hoped, but Martin had never been good with facial expressions. “I need you to look at the Solak case again.”

“I--um, why?”

“The shop she claims she received her gardening supplies from apparently closed down in 1995, according to Sasha. There was no way that she would have been able to visit it in 2008, unless she happened to misremember the name of it when giving her statement. But I find that unlikely as her description of the shop matches the one that closed down in 1995.”

“Oh, um--so, you're saying she actually visited it?"

“I am saying we need to find the name of the shop she visited based on the description. I don't want to jump into time-traveling shops just yet, Martin. Sasha is looking into that shop’s history, but I need someone to look into other shops that could have sold her those seeds in the meantime.”

“So you--what, want me to look for places she might’ve gone to and ask like, what sort of seeds they have?”

“I need you to ask what sort of _tomato seeds_ they distributed in _2008_.”

“I--” Martin glanced at the spreadsheet, “well, you just--you already asked me to deal with these statements first, to see if they were related at all.”

“...Yes?”

“Well, it’s just--can I finish this first?”

Jon blinked, looking a very muted kind of confused. “Just do it now, please.”

“I--it’s, um. Well, it’s just out of nowhere, that’s all. I can do it, I just, I mean--it’s, um. I’m just in the middle of something, t-that’s all. Bit of a jump from one thing to another.”

Martin heard the door open, and heard Tim sighing as he stretched and slid into his chair. Martin slid his hands together, rubbing his thumbs over one another. He was painfully aware of Jon standing over him, and sweat was starting to bead on his neck. He didn’t know how to tell Jon he just didn’t want to jump from subjects that quickly, that he needed a warning before doing it, or something. This was why he liked routines, even if they weren’t incredibly strict. Just knowing what he might do every day worked. Jon wasn’t saying anything, but looking very close to making some kind of comment about Martin's work ethic.

“Hey, boss,” called Tim, getting both Martin and Jon’s attention, “when you’re done having a staring contest with Martin, I need to tell you what I found out today at the precinct.”

“In a moment. I was just explaining to Martin what I need from him regarding the Solak case.”

“Now hold on,” Tim leaned back in his chair, “you told him to do something else today. The people who all went to that weird moving meat those people bought. Now you want him to look into the bone tomatoes someone grew?”

“They had _teeth_ in them, allegedly. But yes.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“Excuse me?”

“Well, I mean. That case was from 2008, the one’s Martin’s working on was from 2014. Reckon it’d be a little easier to follow up on that one. Just let him do that one first.”

“Tim, this case is incredibly important, and I’d rather--”

“No, no,” Tim held up a hand, “I know it probably is. Just hold it in your hands for a bit. Let Martin get this one done first. Better use of our time.”

“I don’t believe you have the authority to make such demands.”

“Sure I do. I mean, that’s why you don’t call me with side missions when I’m out. Martin doesn't like interruptions, either, looks like. So don’t interrupt him. Hold it in your hands. Are you holding it in your hands?”

“Not physically.”

“Jon.”

“Yes,” Jon sighed, crossing his arms, “yes, Tim, I’m holding it in my hands. Fine. Martin, I expect you to start working on this statement as soon as you’re done here. And please, make sure you’ve checked _all_ of the possible shops this time.”

Martin gave a private sigh of relief when Jon turned and left, muttering to himself quietly the entire time. The door softly clicked closed, and Martin looked over at Tim, who was starting to type something on the computer.

“Tim?”

“Martin?”

“Thanks--thanks for that. I--I was afraid he wouldn’t listen if I told him that.”

“Oh, no worries. It’s just not something that really occurs to him. He did it in research, too.”

“Did...what?”

“Would just come to you asking you to do something totally different from what you were doing. He’s just excited, that’s all, even if he doesn’t look it. When he gets excited it’s all he thinks about and he’ll jump from things pretty quickly. That’s what I mean when I tell him to hold things in his hand. Just hang on to a thought for a while and finish what you need to before jumping to something else. He has something like that for me too, actually. When he tells me to keep a hand free he means I need to know something might change before it happens. Ended up being a pretty effective strategy for us.”

Martin turned his head to one side. “You...you have trouble with...with this sort of thing too?”

“Yeah. It’s why Jon’s not allowed to call me when I’m out being devilishly handsome and totally not bribing anyone for information on cases. Can’t really be bothered being asked to do something else once I’ve already decided what I’m doing. I don’t have the energy to do something unless I’ve planned to do it, y’know?”

Martin smiled. “Yeah. Yeah, I do know. Hey, um--I have to get back to work, but. I mean, I get it if, if it’s just a you and Jon thing, but--am I allowed to use those phrases too? With Jon? I just--I mean, I feel like maybe it would make things a little easier, and it seems like it works for you.”

“It’s a system, Martin,” laughed Tim, “it’s there so people can use it together. Of course you can.”

“I’ll tell him it’s the same system you use with him, then. Um. Thanks.” Martin smiled, and settled back into his chair. He wasn’t looking, but he could feel Tim smiling back at him. 

* * *

They’d been doing some sort of construction somewhere around the archives. It wasn’t unbearably loud, but it was loud and varied enough that it gave Tim a headache that started exactly at ten thirteen and lasted all day. It was hard to focus, over the sound of banging and power tools that Tim was unused to hearing. He’d moved himself into the break room, hoping that he could distance himself from the noise at least marginally. It didn’t work, but at least he was the only one in the room, which took some of the edge off at least. And while Tim knew it wasn’t anybody’s fault, it was just something that was happening, it made him more irritable than usual. His headache was at its worst, right when Jon had asked him if he’d had a summary of what he’d been able to find about a statement giver’s flat address. It annoyed him more than it had a right to, because it was his job, and Jon's, for that matter. But he was working on it, and already dealing with the noise of the construction. The added challenge of having to talk to Jon about something he was working on was frustrating, the frustration was getting to be too much.

"I haven't," said Tim, snappier than usual, "do you need me to tell you every hour I haven't so you don't keep asking?"

“Tim--” Jon sighed, holding an arm with his hand, looking unsure what to say. Tim wasn’t in the mood to reassure Jon of anything and looked back at the statement he was taking notes on, trying to come up with a description of the flat he could check for once he was at his computer. Tim felt Jon looking at him, and it was beginning to get on his nerves. But if he didn’t say anything Jon wouldn’t leave, so he looked up at Jon again. 

“I’m fine.” His eyes darted back down to his notes.

“No you aren’t.”

“Well, you’re not getting else out of me.”

“Do you...ah...do you not have any free hands today? I understand that the construction must be--distracting.”

“Just coming to that conclusion now? Gee, boss, real observant of you.”

A small silence. Then Jon’s small sigh. “I’m sorry.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Can I assume you don't have any free hands today?”

“You can and should.”

“Alright.”

The sound of Jon walking away was a relief. It wasn’t that Tim was mad at Jon. Well, he was, actually, but he knew it was irrational. Jon hadn’t done anything wrong. He just couldn’t keep talking, couldn’t keep being around someone when the sound of the construction was putting a bottleneck on his energy. Just the sensation of being around someone else was enough to get Tim rankled, because they might make more noise, more noise when he was already overwhelmed with it. Give him an even larger headache that made focusing even harder. 

Tim sighed.

He missed Sasha. She’d been down in the library cross-checking newer statements with older ones, and it was unlikely she’d be back in the archives at all today. Tim wasn’t about to disturb her, but as the day dragged on, he was finding it harder to go without her. Sasha was always good at helping him in the exact way he needed help. She knew why, of course she knew, but it she always seemed to know what it was Tim needed. She seemed to know when Tim needed someone’s hand on his own, just letting him experience the sensation of someone else touching him. And she seemed to know when Tim needed her to hug him, or to just wrap her arms around him and make him feel safe, for a moment. She was gentle too, in a way he needed, applying enough pressure that it wasn’t overwhelming, but was a firm reminder that she was there with him. She’d just hold him, keep him secure for a moment, and was good at calming Tim down on days like this. 

But for all Tim was comfortable with physical contact, and needed it, really, he wasn't couldn't rely on anyone to use touch to calm him down. If Tim didn't have any sort of connection with them at all, didn't know and trust them, and wasn't expecting their touch, it didn't feel comforting. Familiarity had a lot to do with comfort, and if he was seeking comfort in an embrace, he couldn't get that from just anyone. Especially when he felt like this.

Rubbing his eyes, Tim tried to focus. He couldn’t really ask Jon, or Martin, for that matter, to give him a hug. Neither Jon nor Martin were particularly the huggiest of people, at least not usually. Jon simply wasn’t prone to it, and Martin didn’t seem like a fan of physical touch. He was, sometimes and in some places for certain amounts of time. But very often he pulled away from Tim reaching out to clap his upper back or shoulder. There were only a few places Martin was okay being touched (around his head, mostly), and he really didn’t initiate physical contact. And that was fine; rather the opposite of Tim himself in some ways, but it was fine. 

He’d be fine. 

* * *

Martin had seen Tim come into work, but hadn’t seen much of him all day. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but he wondered if the noise from the construction was bothering Tim as much as it was bothering him. Tim only came to his desk a few times, and Martin hadn’t paid much attention to where he was headed afterwards. He was trying to focus on adding all the dates to the spreadsheet, and then start thinking about who to follow up with. The sound of the construction was terrible, and his head was pounding from it. Normally he wouldn’t have had as much trouble focusing on work like this, but the constant unfamiliar noise had kept him latently distracted all day. The construction had finally stopped by about half past three, but Martin’s head still hurt and his mind still felt foggy by the time he would’ve normally left. He swallowed. He wasn’t sure he wanted to travel when he felt like this, needed more time to decompress unless he wanted to feel like this all evening. But he felt like he had to go _now_ , too. 

Martin sank into his chair, and flinched when the door came open. Tim looked angry, and Martin crossed his arms. 

“Tim? You alright?”

Tim scoffed. “Fantastic.”

“Loud for you too?”

“Yeah.”

“I have a headache. Still.”

“Me too.”

“Not really ready to go home, yet, but--I mean. I don’t know if I want to stay, either. That’d be, well. Different.”

Tim nodded. “I texted Sash. She just left. Wish she was here.”

“Why? I mean, besides her being lovely.”

“Her being lovely. She’s nice when I’m feeling like this. Lots of hugging, it--it helps.”

Martin frowned. He felt guilt start to pool up in his stomach and he squeezed his hands together and looked away from Tim. Tim raised his eyebrows then rubbed a hand across his face as realization hit him. 

“Shit, I didn’t--sorry, I wasn’t trying to give out to you. I know that’s not your thing.”

“It’s not that it isn’t my thing. Or, well. No, it isn’t my thing, really, but I mean that it just...depends, on whether it’s my thing or not. Only with some people and some places. Sorry, I--I wish I could do what Sasha does for you. You don’t look like you’re doing well. Sorry, christ, I wish I was better at this, too, it’s just--hard to know what to say, or feel.”

“Nah,” Tim waved a hand, “don’t wish that you were different. I like you just fine as you are.”

Martin smiled. “I like you too. If--if you want. I...well, if it helps, I...I wouldn’t mind laying on you, if you want?”

“Oh, well,” Tim cocked his head to one side, “I mean, if _you’re_ comfortable with that. Sasha does that sometimes.”

“Y-yeah, I am. I--I feel comfortable around you. And I don’t mind resting against people’s chests, really. Well, yours, at least. You’re...you’re nice to do that with. I--don’t touch my shoulders too much, but, if you want to hug my back that’s fine, too. I don’t mind that, with you. And you--you smell nice. God, sorry, is that weird?”

“No, no weird at all,” Tim laughed a little, “so do you. I--I mean, yeah, if you want to go lay down in the breakroom or something, I think--well, I wouldn’t mind that. I don’t want to stay here too late, but let’s see how we feel after a bit.”

Martin smiled, and got up and pushed in his chair.

“Hey,” said Martin, watching Tim push his chair in, “um--do you mind if we keep the lights off in there too? Sorry, I just--it’s easier for me to come down from this when they’re off.”

Tim’s expression softened with understanding. “Don’t mind one bit.”


End file.
